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Light gray eyes (we hear him say), and а droop in the left eyelid flaxen hair, with а gold-yellow streak in it all right, mother! fair, white arms with а down on them little, ladys hand, with а reddish look round the fingernails the knife the cursed knife first on one side, then on the other aha, you she-devil! where is the knife?
He stops and grows restless on а sudden. We see him writhing on the straw. He throws up both his hands and gasps hysterically for breath. His eyes open suddenly. For а moment they look at nothing, with а vacant glitter in them then they close again in deeper sleep. Is he dreaming still? Yes; but the dream seems to have taken а new course. When he speaks next, the tone is altered; the words are few sadly and imploringly repeated over and over again. Say you love me! I am so fond of you. Say you love me! say you love me! He sinks into deeper and deeper sleep, faintly repeating those words. They die away on his lips. He speaks no more.
By this time Mrs. Fairbank has got over her terror; she is devoured by curiosity now. The miserable creature on the straw has appealed to the imaginative side of her character. Her illimitable appetite for romance hungers and thirsts for more. She shakes me impatiently by the arm.
Do you hear? There is а woman at the bottom of it, Percy! There is love and murder in it, Percy! Where are the people of the inn? Go into the yard, and call to them again.
My wife belongs, on her mothers side, to the South of France. The South of France breeds fine women with hot tempers. I say no more. Married men will understand my position. Single men may need to be told that there are occasions when we must not only love and honour we must also obey our wives.
I turn to the door to obey my wife, and find myself confronted by а stranger who has stolen on us unawares. The stranger is а tiny, sleepy, rosy old man, with а vacant pudding-face, and а shining bald head. He wears drab breeches and gaiters, and а respectable square-tailed ancient black coat. I feel instinctively that here is the landlord of the inn.
Good morning, sir, says the rosy old man. Im а little hard of hearing. Was it you that was a-calling just now in the yard?
Before I can answer, my wife interposes. She insists (in а shrill voice, adapted to our hosts hardness of hearing) on knowing who that unfortunate person is sleeping on the straw. Where does he come from? Why does he say such dreadful things in his sleep? Is he married or single? Did he ever fall in love with а murderess? What sort of а looking woman was she? Did she really stab him or not? In short, dear Mr. Landlord, tell us the whole story!
Dear Mr. Landlord waits drowsily until Mrs. Fairbank has quite done then delivers himself of his reply as follows:
His names Francis Raven. Hes an Independent Methodist. He was forty-five year old last birthday. And hes my hostler. Thats his story.
My wifes hot southern temper finds its way to her foot, and expresses itself by а stamp on the stable yard.
The landlord turns himself sleepily round, and looks at the horses. A fine pair of horses, them two in the yard. Do you want to put em in my stables? I reply in the affirmative by а nod. The landlord, bent on making himself agreeable to my wife, addresses her once more. Im a-going to wake Francis Raven. Hes an Independent Methodist. He was forty-five year old last birthday. And hes my hostler. Thats his story.
Having issued this second edition of his interesting narrative, the landlord enters the stable. We follow him to see how he will wake Francis Raven, and what will happen upon that. The stable broom stands in а corner; the landlord takes it advances toward the sleeping hostler and coolly stirs the man up with а broom as if he was а wild beast in а cage. Francis Raven starts to his feet with а cry of terror looks at us wildly, with а horrid glare of suspicion in his eyes recovers himself the next moment and suddenly changes into а decent, quiet, respectable serving-man.
I beg your pardon, maam. I beg your pardon, sir.
The tone and manner in which he makes his apologies are both above his apparent station in life. I begin to catch the infection of Mrs. Fairbanks interest in this man. We both follow him out into the yard to see what he will do with the horses. The manner in which he lifts the injured leg of the lame horse tells me at once that he understands his business. Quickly and quietly, he leads the animal into an empty stable; quickly and quietly, he gets а bucket of hot water, and puts the lame horses leg into it. The warm water will reduce the swelling, sir. I will bandage the leg afterwards. All that he does is done intelligently; all that he says, he says to the purpose.
I beg your pardon, maam. I beg your pardon, sir.
The tone and manner in which he makes his apologies are both above his apparent station in life. I begin to catch the infection of Mrs. Fairbanks interest in this man. We both follow him out into the yard to see what he will do with the horses. The manner in which he lifts the injured leg of the lame horse tells me at once that he understands his business. Quickly and quietly, he leads the animal into an empty stable; quickly and quietly, he gets а bucket of hot water, and puts the lame horses leg into it. The warm water will reduce the swelling, sir. I will bandage the leg afterwards. All that he does is done intelligently; all that he says, he says to the purpose.